As I lifted the chalice, the baby began to play soccer under my ribs.
At first I found the "little flower" insufferable. Then I read her unedited writing.
The More-with-Less cookbook called for responsible eating long before it was cool.
The gig seemed fairly routine. Then I saw the parrots.
As a young white pastor, I learned the value of working with black organizations—and not trying to be in charge.
My state has the same number of churches as prisoners. This fact haunts me.
Denominational meetings can be difficult. My Sunday school class reminds me what's at stake.
We thought her only stern and rigorous and dry—until one afternoon in October.
Amazon sells books at their brick-and-mortar stores, but that's not why they want me to come.
When I first had sex, it wasn't just teenage hormones. I wanted to know and be known.
How does the blazing sun produce so much refreshing fruit?
"Even Lucifer might well have a change of heart," said the fifth grader. "Isn't that right, Father?"
We asked readers to write on the theme "feast." Here are the most compelling entries.
We invest each seed and young plant with the exuberant yet completely rational hope of compounded returns.
We call God "Father" and "Mother" because children don't say "Parent, Parent." But what will my children call me?